


Trapped Inside

by PRcrazy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Batman References, Derek in Denial, Hale Family Feels, M/M, Post Season 2, Pre-Slash, Stilinski Family Feels, canon-divergent, some language, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 19:58:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1359895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRcrazy/pseuds/PRcrazy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens to Derek when an enjoyable night gets completely ruined with a phone call and what he witnesses leaves him completely helpless?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trapped Inside

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Teen Wolf or any of its cast. It belongs to Jeff Davis and MTV. I also don't own the Batman Movies, those are DC Comics problem.
> 
> This is my first contribution to the fanfiction universe. Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated; so is any grammar corrections. Flamers can just go to where the sun doesn't shine. Thank you.
> 
> Special thanks to my dear friend Lola di Black, for her help in making this happen. You is awesome, girl!!!!!! Love ya!!!! XDXD
> 
> Now edited, hopefully.

Derek would never get tired of seeing Stiles’s reaction whenever the boy turned on his bedroom light to find him lurking unannounced in the shadows. Don’t get him wrong, Scott’s reaction is quite entertaining in and of itself, but something about the way the hyperactive kid jumps almost a foot in the air, dropping whatever he was carrying while his arms flailed, trying to catch the doorframe to keep from falling on his butt brought the smallest hint of a smile to the werewolf’s lips and the barest glimpse of exasperated amusement to his eyes, almost against his will. Of course, both are immediately wiped from his face before Stiles regains his balance enough to scold Derek for his, quote unquote, “creeper-ness”. Like now, for example.

“Seriously dude, we have got to get you a cat bell or something. You know, ding-a-ling-a-ling?” said Stiles, mimicking ringing a bell as he stared at Derek, clearly annoyed at the intrusion. When the older man did nothing more than raise an eyebrow, Stiles sighed dejectedly and rolled his eyes, bending down to pick up his fallen books. He muttered tiredly, “Whatever, Spock. What is it this time? Research? Hacking? More death threats to my precious neck involving your teeth?”

“The movie.”

Stiles blinked, “Movie? What movie?”

Derek had to visibly stop himself from thumping the idiot over the head. Of course he’d forget. This was Stiles. He had the focus range of a gnat. Irritation increasing, Derek deadpanned, “The Batman movie?”

Stiles continued staring stupidly.

“That you invited me to see?”

Still nothing.

“Last week?”

Finally Stiles’s eyes widened in realization and he breathed out, “Ooooh. That movie.”

Derek’s eyes narrowed accusingly.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The event in question occurred precisely eight days ago. Stiles had just got off the phone with Scott after reminiscing about the previous Batman movies and comparing them to the new one Dark Knight something or whatever. Derek was busy on the computer researching about the Alpha Pack since the internet connection and technological appliances were infinitely better here than whatever he owned. Stiles’s voice cut through his concentration.

“What about you, Derek?”

“What about me?” he replied absentmindedly.

“What’s your opinion on the Dark Knight Rises movie? Which, by the way, is the greatest most mind-numbingly awesome freaking movie in the history of greatest, most mind-numbingly awesome freaking movies, which are quite a few, let me tell you. Although, truthfully, I prefer the Joker from Dark Knight over Bane as best villain because, first, Heath Ledger, may he rest in peace, did such a kickass job! I mean, he was the Joker! Did you know there’s a rumor that he died because of the extreme psychological demands of the role? Yeah. And secondly, PFFT! It’s the freaking Joker! Need I say more? But Anne Hathaway looked damn hot in that skin-tight leather suit and…you lost me, didn’t you?”

This last bit was uttered when Derek, unable to work due to the rambling behind him, slowly turned toward said rambler and fixed him up with a glare that clearly said, “Shut your mouth or I’ll tear out your tongue…with my teeth.” Stiles sat up straight in his bed and cleared his throat, a faint blush spreading through his cheeks which Derek didn’t think becoming against his fair skin. He really didn’t. Honest.

“Anyway, what did you think of the movie?”

“Haven’t seen it.” grumbled Derek as he turned back to the computer. Ironically, the unusually dead silence that settled behind him was even more disconcerting than the rambling, as he had unfortunately grown accustomed to the kid making some sort of noise, be it verbal or otherwise. As the silence stretched on, the only sounds coming from the keyboard and the computer, Derek grew more nervous until he couldn’t take it anymore and once more turned around.

Only to be met with a completely thunderstruck Batman super freak, looking like a ridiculous statue with his bulging eyes and gaping mouth, his colorless face and unnaturally frozen limbs; if it wasn’t for his moving torso, one would even think he wasn’t breathing. Derek resisted the urge to wave his hand in front of the boy’s face, and instead barked out, “Stiles!” which managed to shock the human statue out of his seemingly catatonic-like state, even if he fell off the bed in the process.

“What?!” explained Stiles when he finally sat up. “You haven’t seen…you haven’t… oh, you poor depraved soul!” Derek’s eyes narrowed at that. “This is horrible! I mean… Oh my God! How can you have never seen any of the Batman movies?! Like…dude…seriously!” “Stiles calm down already. It’s not like I’ve never seen any of the movies, just the recent ones” Derek grumbled, desperately trying to keep the embarrassing heat from showing on his face.

His life after the fire was nothing but a roller coaster of achieving anonymity and fear of being captured. After becoming separated from Laura, avoided capture and going completely underground to do so become his number one priority. As such, he hadn’t given himself time for leisurely moments like going to the movies. He could remember a time when he loved watching movies though. He could remember fighting with Laura over what film to see on TV until they finally settled it with a game of Rock, Paper or Scissors. She usually won-and wasn’t shy gloating about it-but sometimes, and he wouldn’t have noticed this if it weren’t for his werewolf senses, she would hold back for a micro second after he showed his hand to show hers, which in those cases always lost. She might’ve never admitted it, and he never mentioned it, but he knew she let him win and, looking back on it, he was forever grateful.

By the time Derek focused back on Stiles, the boy had managed to calm down enough to get back on the bed. “Ok, ok. What was the last Batman movie you saw?” Derek wracked his brain, trying to remember. “The one with the ice guy and the plant woman.” Evidently that was the wrong thing to say. “Batman and Robin? The last one you saw was Batman and Robin?! The worst Batman movie in Batman history?! You saw that crap?! Oh how your have suffered, you poor man…werewolf…whatever! Dude, you have _got_ to watch the Dark Knight Trilogy. It’s the only way to save your soul…and eyes. There’s gotta be a way to… wait a minute.”

Derek has known Stiles enough to be wary of the current expression on his face. It was the face he made right before saying something really stupid. “I got it! Let’s watch them together!”

And there it was.

‘This kid is going to be the end of me,’ thought Derek as he opened his mouth to growl his protest and opinion of Stiles’s intelligence. However, Stiles quickly interrupted, “Wait, wait, wait! Hear me out! You haven’t seen the Dark Knight Trilogy, but I have the trilogy. And I can’t in good conscience let you go through life never having watched them; it’s the Samaritan in me. And since I know that if left alone, you would never see them, it’s the perfect solution! Come over sometime early and we can watch them together. That way, you’ll get a life-fulfilling experience and I’ll feel good about helping people. OK?”

Derek didn’t get a chance to respond what in any other person would be a speech worthy of a nice, long, severe mauling, but in this instance was just Stiles being…well, Stiles-no other word for it really. At that moment, he got a call from Erica demanding candied pickles and Rocky Road ice cream. “What are you, pregnant? Next you’ll want live scorpions and strawberries.” Derek said exasperatedly. He was the Alpha, the leader, NOT her freaking delivery boy, dammit! Erica, however, didn’t seem to give a crap. “Ok, one: I’m not pregnant I’m in my period, which is the same without the baby-popping. Two: put a hat on the live scorpions and strawberry thing, sounds interesting,” (he was NOT reminding her of anything) “And three: if you don’t get what I want, I’m just going to have to take it out on poor little Isaac here, and you wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

If he strained his senses a bit, he could almost hear Isaac whimpering softly at the girl’s no doubt evil smile. He finally spat out, “Fine”. If there was something he learned from his childhood in a house full of women was to never mess with them during their time of the month or pregnancy. “Thank you, Derek,” responded Erica in a mockingly sweet voice, “oh, and don’t forget my Maxipads. Remember, overnight with wings. Bye!” Derek cringed as he hung up and sighed. This was his pack.

“I have to go. DON’T ask,” snapped Derek as soon as he saw Stiles open his mouth. The boy promptly shut it up again, only to grin slyly at the irritated Alpha.

“What?”

“Look at you, going to Erica’s rescue. And I know it was Erica because only three people make you do that constipated face-yeah, that one-and since I just got off the phone with one of them and you’re looking at the other one, it can only be her; plus the pregnant comment did not go by unnoticed. Aw, it’s almost like you’re her daddy.” Derek chose to ignore that comment before he gave into temptation and smashed the idiot’s face against the keyboard like he did with his steering wheel, or do something that he might or might not regret like…never mind.

With that, Derek jumped out of Stiles’s window, and the topic of him viewing the Dark Knight Trilogy wasn’t broached again. It never left his mind through, no matter how much he tried to forget it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Which was how he was currently seated on a computer chair, in the ever-growing dusk, staring at a sputtering teenager who was desperately trying and failing to not look as embarrassed as he did-and should be. “Well…you know, there’s a brand new invention called a cell phone, right? Little magic square thing that takes and makes calls, among other things? I’m sure I’ve seen you with one quite a few times. You could’ve…I don’t know, called to remind me beforehand that you were coming to watch the movie, maybe? Oh, don’t give me that look! How can you expect me to remember something like that after the week I’ve had? It hasn’t been all unicorns and rainbows, you know. I’ve had to tutor Scott to keep him from failing…again, make sure Lydia’s okay now that Jackson left to “find himself”, try and explain to Danny what’s going on with his best friend, research about the Alpha Pack and their plans, all the while acting as a cab service-that doesn’t pay-to a bunch of angsty teenagers that have severe identity and survival problems! With no help! While fearing for my life because of the damn Alpha Pack! How…hey, where are you going?!”

Derek had abruptly stood up, interrupting Stiles’s rather self-serving sermon, and turned towards the window, barely resisting from wolfing out on the boy; not the wisest thing to do in the Sheriff’s house. He was so angry and with good reason, he thought. He also didn’t have the easiest week (not that any week was easy for him, not with his life). There had been two close encounters with the Alpha Pack, and both were relatively near the police station; he didn’t know what to make of it. He hasn’t told Stiles because he knew the boy would worry for his father’s sake, and he would rather gather more information before he warned him so that he wouldn’t have to worry unnecessarily. If there’s one thing he knew about Stiles, it was that he always put other people first; a quality he both respected and was often frustrated about, since it led to zero self-preservation instincts. So instead he arranged a perimeter around town, concentrating his own efforts on the police station, doing the rounds himself.

So yes, it was his usual not-easy week, but even then he never forgot Stiles’s movie invitation. In fact, he thought about it so often that he had spaced out during a meeting with his pack and had to be snapped out of it by a giggling Erica, flanked by Isaac, who was barely containing a smile, and Boyd, who had a disturbingly knowing look on his face. Like they all could figure out what was going on in his head. Safe to say he ended the meeting early.

Point is, he thought about it so much that his stupid pack noticed; the only reason he could even be here was because they practically strong armed him into leaving his post, saying they had everything under control (or rather, Erica sic-ed Boyd to reason him half to death). He couldn’t help but feel annoyed (he refuses to feel hurt) that Stiles is the one who extended the invitation and yet he’s the one who forgot.

“Come look for me if you ever care to remember,” he said snidely as he made his way to the window, sarcasm ringing his every word. He would go back to his post at the police station and refuse to sulk, all the while ignoring his pack’s curiosity. Before he could do so, however, Stiles quickly blocked his exit, flushing in apparent abashment and scratching the back of his head. “Wait!” Derek lifted an eyebrow impatiently, silently ordering the teenager out of the way. “I’m sorry, ok? I shouldn’t have forgotten so easily. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d ever accept, but it’s still no excuse. If you want, we can still watch them; I’m always game for a round of the Caped Crusader, and dad has the night shift today so we won’t be disturbed. What say you?” Stiles lifted hopeful eyes at the sulky man’s (not sulky, dammit!) countenance.

Derek wanted to keep being mad at Stiles, really he did, but those stupid brown eyes! He’d taken the time to closely examine them whenever he glared at the boy while he pressed him against the wall, faces close enough to breathe each other’s air. He’ll probably take this to his grave before admitting it to anyone other than himself, but he found himself somewhat fascinated by the human’s eyes. They were too light to be considered brown, yet too dark to be considered amber. The closest color he could think to call them was a rusty gold or bright copper, and even then they didn’t come close to his real eye color; in conjunction with the small expectant smile upon his lips…well, it might…sort of…maybe make a rather…appealing picture. Not that Derek thought him appealing. Hell no! Not in the least! He just meant it in a general sense. Stiles was…generally…somewhat…appealing.

Crap.

There was only one way to respond to this.

Derek glared at Stiles with such murderous intent that one would’ve thought he was going to throw the poor boy out the window. He certainly enjoyed the faint smell of fear wafting from Stiles, as well as his widened eyes. Instead of giving him a broken ankle however, Derek simply turned on his heel towards the door, opened it and stepped aside, apparently waiting for Stiles to go through it, though the look on his face was more reminiscent to that of the guardian to the Gates of Hell. Stiles just stood frozen in front of the window, staring at the “sourwolf” as if apprehensively waiting to be thrown out of it.

“Well?” Derek growled.

Stiles jumped, standing more stiffly if possible.

“Are we gonna watch the stupid movie or not?”

Now when most people are gruffly ordered to do anything, there’s usually indignation or at the very least extreme annoyance. But Stiles is not most people.

God knows Stiles is not most people.

So instead, his face lights up like the Fourth of July, almost freaking glowing with the excitement, and all but skips to the door, stopping in front of Derek, to effing close to his face, and cheekily proclaiming, “Awesome! Because of that, I shall wipe out the Extra Butterific Popcorn from my secret stash, with extra theater butter, in thy honor. Yay, popcorn! And theater butter!” After which, he goes on merrily skipping his merry way to his merry freaking kitchen to make his merry freaking popcorn, leaving Derek frozen next to the door, still death-gripping the doorknob, asking himself and any deity currently eavesdropping how the hell did this become his life. He slowly turned his head towards the sounds of Stiles bustling in the kitchen in all hyperactive stupidity, and once again couldn’t restrain the smile that somehow always appears after having experienced an overdose of Stiles. Once more questioning just what he got himself into and his sanity, Derek closed the door behind him and followed the voice down the stairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

One very long movie, half a gigantic bowl of buttery, diabetes-inducing popcorn and Stiles’s unnecessary commentary (which Derek managed to stop temporarily by flicking his ear and threatened to do worse) later, they were making their way through The Dark Knight, watching Batman intellectually get his ass handed to him on a rusty silver platter as The Joker-Heath Ledger, Derek remembered-played with his and everyone else’s mind. He had to admit, it was a pretty impressive performance, and not that Derek was a movie critic by any means, but still. Pretty impressive. Stiles seemed to think so too, as he quite literally couldn’t sit still on the couch (when did he ever?), jumping whenever the Joker did something drastic, following it with a, “that was so freaking awesome! God, I love this movie!” and shoving yet more popcorn into the black hole on his face.

During a lull in the movie, where Bruce Wayne was talking to Harvey Dent and Commissioner Gordon, Stiles went uncharacteristically quiet and still for a few moments before muttering contemplatively, “You know, watching the movie again, Batman kind of reminds me of you, in a sense.” Derek, who was trying not to think about how The Joker somewhat reminded him of a certain blonde, life-ruining bitch, turned towards him, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you both speak in a growly voice, for one thing,” Stiles answered, grinning at him with an eyebrow raised.

“I do not speak in a growly voice,” Derek growled.

“Ha! Speak for yourself,” Stiles chuckled, “but it’s not only that. You both have this…alter ego, so to speak…secret, really, that not many people know, you’re both broody-don’t try to deny it, you know you are-and well-,” he averted his eyes back to the screen, avoiding Derek’s scrutinizing gaze, “-you both experienced tragedies in your past that rendered you orphans and could’ve completely destroyed you, yet it didn’t. It made you stronger, it made you protectors. It made you heroes,” the boy’s eyes met Derek’s. “Someone who, while misunderstood and even persecuted, is still worthy of admiration. From those who know the truth, at least.”

Derek absolutely noticed the faint flush that was barely visible from the light of the television screen as their eyes locked onto each other. He almost had to physically resist the urge to…well, he didn’t really know what exactly. Or rather, he didn’t really want to know what exactly. Was Stiles implying that he admired Derek, thought him some sort of hero and protector of Beacon Hills? Derek never even came close to thinking of himself like that; if anything, he thought of himself as more of a mess barely capable of holding everything together, what with all the crap that’s happened since his return from New York. From Kate’s appearance to the Alpha Pack and the clusterfuck in between, plus all the bad decisions he’d made, like biting Jackson, hero is not a word he would use to describe himself.

And yet.

If he had heard him right, Stiles did just describe him as a hero, albeit a misunderstood and truthfully persecuted one. Like Batman. It felt kind of…unexpected and…unexpectedly…good to be thought of like that for once, instead of the guy/wanted fugitive to blame for every befallen misfortune. It also raised a strangely important question for him: how did Stiles see himself?

Derek was pulled from his reverie by Stiles jumping a foot in the air-how can he do that while still sitting down?-at a truck that just dramatically tipped on its front and crashed upside down behind the villain in the movie. The older man hadn’t even noticed when the other turned back to the TV, a testament to how lost he was in his thoughts. “Damn! Did you see that? Gets me every time!” the teenager said excitedly, sparing a quick glance in Derek’s direction before going back to the film.

“Stiles,” the werewolf mused, “if I’m Batman, then what character are you?” This captured the human’s attention. “Me?” Derek nodded, “Um…normally I’d say Robin, but that’s only when I refer to Scott as Batman-don’t ask. In your case, I guess I’d be more…I don’t know, Alfred maybe? Yeah or Lucius. You know, the human research genius who lays his services at the hero’s feet, many times against his will. Besides, there’s really no way I can be Robin now that I think about it, except maybe for the title of sidekick. I haven’t any superpowers or fancy gadgets, I don’t save anyone. I’m not a hero; I’m just a spazzy teenager with a laptop and an obsession for werewolf lore who’s best friend just happens to turn into Wolverine’s geeky cousin once a month or when he loses control.” Stiles said, all this while facing the screen, seemingly focused on the phone ringing inside a man’s body. But the fact that he didn’t jump when it exploded and the glazed over look in his eyes told the truth of where his attention really was. Derek suddenly realized that he had to snap Stiles out of his thoughts; that glazed over look didn’t look good on him.

“You’ve saved me,” he murmured quietly. The boy snapped his gaze to his, eyes widening in astonishment. “More than once. And many others as well. Doesn’t that make you a hero?”

Stiles seemed frozen and speechless after his small speech, movie all but forgotten. He looked like he was searching for something in Derek’s sharp eyes, and the werewolf couldn’t help but become distracted by the boy’s irises, which in the dim light of the movie glowed a dark brown with an interchangeable streak of whatever prominent color there was in the current scene running through it.

Those stupid brown eyes.

Whatever he was looking for, apparently Stiles found it, because his gaze softened and his lips quirked into a smile before opening his mouth to reply. Before he could, however, Derek’s phone rang, abruptly waking them up from their trance. They jumped apart, Stiles towards the movie and Derek towards his phone. He distractedly checked it, desperately trying to forget the strange glint in the boy’s eyes as they looked at him, when he did a double-take as he noticed the number.

Boyd never called. Usually it was Erica or Isaac, or even Scott on occasion, but never Boyd. If he was the one calling then that meant…

Oh, shit.

“What happened?” Derek demanded as soon as the phone was pressed to his ear. He noticed that Stiles turned down the volume, no doubt trying in vain to listen to the conversation.

 _“A policeman has been murdered_.” Boyd’s deep voice resonated through him like a clap of thunder.

A policeman.

Oh God.

Derek glanced at Stilles’s curious face, dread filling his entire body. Boyd seemed to have heard his unspoken question, for he was quick to say, _“It’s not the Sheriff.”_   It took a considerable amount of self-control not to release the huge sigh of relief threatening to escape from his lungs.

The victim isn’t Stiles’s dad. It isn’t the Sheriff. It was still very bad that a human being was killed, even worse a law enforcement officer, but…small mercies. He couldn’t even imagine Stiles’s reaction upon being told his only living family member had perished.

Small mercies indeed.

“Who, when, where and how?” Derek gritted out, impatient to know the details _. “We don’t know how he is; all his identification was stolen. The only reason we even know he was a police officer is because Isaac has seen him a few times around town in his uniform; he’s in casual wear now, so it was after his shift. The blood’s not very fresh, so quite a few hours ago. I’d estimate about 8 to 10 hours. He was attacked in the forest, halfway between the police station and Stiles’s house. Derek, he was severely mauled, their emblem is carved on his stomach,”_   Boyd paused,  _“This is clearly a message from the Alpha Pack.”_ The beta didn’t say anything more, but Derek didn’t need him to. He knew the message was for him, but he didn’t understand what it meant. Why the law enforcement? Why the police? Yes, they were the human protectors of the town and yes, Derek has rubbed them the wrong way more than once, what with being a suspect to his sister’s murder and everything and Scott accusing him of attacking them at the school, but he had been acquitted of all charges, everything was fine now. Unless…no, that can’t be. It makes no sense.

“I’m on my way,” Derek stated before hanging up and turning towards Stiles, who was looking at him with a curious puppy expression on his face. He avoided his eyes and stood up, tucking his phone into his pocket and slipping on his jacket. “I have to go,” he replied to his host, standing up and heading towards the door.

Stiles scrambled up after and grabbed his sleeve, effectively preventing him from reaching the door, stopping to film and turning the lamp on in the process. “What happened? Is it the Alpha Pack? Can I help?” Derek paused, internally debating what to tell the teenager. Finally, he settled with, “A man has been murdered, his identification stolen. The symbol of the Alpha Pack was carved into his chest. The rest of the pack is over there now.” Stiles gasped, his eyes the size of saucepans. Then he started jumping up and down like a Chihuahua on tequila, his grip on Derek’s jacket sleeve tightening, his eyes glistening in excitement at the prospect of another adventure-it shouldn’t look so endearing! Derek knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Can I…”

“No.”

Stiles ceased his jumping, acquiring that stupid puppy dog expression that really got under the werewolf’s skin. Derek did his very best to avoid that look.

“But I…”

“No.”

“Derek-“

“No, Stiles.”

“But Derek…”

“I said no Stiles, and that’s final!” Derek finally growled, wrenching his arm from the boy’s grasp and shocking him into silence. Stiles narrowed his eyes in contempt, opening his mouth to protest when he froze. Derek watched fascinated as Stiles lowered his head, taking deep breaths, a small smile appearing on his face, before raising his head and…

And…

Uh…

W-what was he doing?

These were Derek’s thoughts as Stiles smiled coyly at him through his lashes, a faint blush painting his cheeks. It took every microscopic shred of his self-control not to step back and press against the wall as the cheeky bastard basically _swaggered_ closer to him, his smile widening and wandering hands picking lightly at his jacket, almost like he _wanted_ to pull him closer to his body.

“Now, Derek,” Stiles smirked, hand resting on the lapel of his jacket, rather uncomfortably close to his neck, “we both know I’m not gonna listen to you. I barely bother with my own father, so why bother with you?”

“Cause otherwise you’ll die,” the reluctantly flustered Alpha grumbled in a pathetic attempt to stop…whatever was happening.

The boy’s smirk widened, pink tongue peeking out of white teeth, and his eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint in them, “and yet I am, safe and sound. So in short, you know as well as I do that I’m just gonna follow after you as soon as you leave. So why waste precious time and gas when we can just share the car? Come on, Derek,” his smirk turned into a genuine smile, glint and blush intensifying, and clutching hands tightening around the black leather.

“Just take me already.”

At those exact words, Derek’s mind did something it hadn’t done since high school: went full shut-down mode. The werewolf stared blankly as the blasted boy bit his stupid bottom lip and looked at him with those stupid brown eyes before his pathetic brain jump-started overtime, trying to find some excuse as to why Stiles couldn’t come along and drawing blank every time.

Cunning little shit.

“We’re taking my car.” He gritted out between clenched teeth, almost regretting the words as they came out of his mouth. The boy’s face instantly cleared, stepping back a bit and giving the wolf some much needed space to breathe (he was getting rather dizzy from the scent). “You mean the car that looks like sex, sounds like sex, even smells like sex and whosoever enters its depths magically has sexual appeal thrust upon them?” exclaimed Stiles, nearly vibrating with excitement before cooling down and heading towards the door, “Don’t mind if I do.”

As he followed him outside, Derek briefly wondered how many sighs he’s sighed today because of Stiles, current sigh included. Too many to count, to be sure.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soon enough, they were in Derek’s apparently very sexual Camaro, on their way to the crime scene, Stiles’s hands playing with the radio before a gruff hand slapped them away, settling on a rock station in low volume.

The blessed silence as the boy admired the car’s interior lasted until he declared, “This piece of machinery is too awesome not to have a name,” he turned towards Derek, “Does it have a name?”

“No.”

“Which means it totally does; a girl’s name no less,” Stiles grinned smugly as Derek took his eyes of the road to glower at him. “How did you-“

“I didn’t. You just told me.”

The irritating human proceeded to try guessing the Camaro’s name while Derek scoffed and turned back to the road; if he wasn’t busy, he would’ve thumped him upside the head. “Amanda? No, too common. Alicia? Abuzika! No? Amelia. Beatriz…” He let the kid proceed with his guessing game while he lost himself once again in his thoughts as he drove.

He had actually named the Camaro.

It was years ago, back when Laura first got the car. Derek had fallen in love with it at first sight, practically drooled over the thing, or so his sister proclaimed as she mocked him. He had been lovingly washing the car (who was he to refuse the 20 bucks Laura had dangled in front of him like a piece of fresh meat?), watching as the water glistened off the hood, when the name came to him in the spur of the moment.

“It’s not Betty, is it? Doesn’t look like a Betty.”

Derek shook his head at Stiles’s antics. ‘Don’t worry Lorraine, I’ll never tell him.’

“Are you stroking the steering wheel? Damn dude, and I thought I was attached to my Jeep.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As they got out of the car in the woods where the crime scene was located, Derek could perceive the scent of blood permeating heavily in the air, as well as the heartbeats of his three betas. Leaving the keys in the ignition in case they needed a quick getaway (can never be too careful), Derek went ahead of Stiles. As he gazed upon the body, he couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity. He could see the officer had been a good man. Around his fifties, he was slightly overweight, with graying hair and a round kind face. Derek could easily imagine him as a family man, with a large family, maybe a pet.

Like him.

Suddenly, pity turned into anger as he stalked towards his pack, who immediately caught on to his anger, if the way they cowed was any indication. “How could you let this happen!?” Derek yelled at his betas, whom flinched violently. Isaac stuttered, “W-well-”

“I left you in charge! You swore to me you had everything under control, I trusted you, and then this?!”

“Derek, listen-” Erica pleaded, face pale.

“No! I should’ve known better than to trust you when there’s so much danger, even if it was just for one night!”

“Derek-” Isaac insisted, his eyes darting nervously.

“It’s your fault an innocent has been killed, a police officer no less! Do you have any idea what the consequences of this are gonna be? Just beginning with the Argents-”

“Derek.” Boyd stated, steady as always.

“What!?”

That’s what first struck Derek as odd when he stopped his rant.

Sheer empty silence.

Stiles was never this silent.

A heartbeat suddenly thundered through his eardrums, as though it wanted to pound its way out of the person’s chest. But it wasn’t any of his betas.

Then it hit him, like a bull to the chest.

The scent.

The bitter, suffocating scent of sheer, unadulterated panic mixed with the crippling, nauseating stench of pain and grief hanging like rain clouds over the atmosphere.

If he didn’t already know it well, he wouldn’t have been able to identify Stiles’s scent underneath it all.

The scene that met Derek when he turned around was one he never thought he would see. Stiles was completely frozen on his knees beside the officer, simply staring at the body. On any other person, this would be strange enough, but the fact that it was Stiles, hyper, never-shuts-his-mouth Stiles, who was like this, looking so small, so quiet, so pale that Derek was afraid of touching him lest he found him as cold from Death’s fingers as the corpse in front of him, that scared Derek more than anything.

It was like his already enhanced hearing had magnified ten-fold. He could hear his betas’ shallow breaths, waiting for something to happen; he could hear the wind rustling through the leaves as if it were glass breaking in his ear, the leaves themselves crunching thunder-like under his feet; the forest animals threatening to break his eardrums. Yet, all this became white noise in the background compared to the sound of Stiles’s heartbeat, his broken, uneven breathing or the faint murmurs uttered under his breath, that to Derek sounded like horrid screams echoing into the night.

“Morty…Morty…it can’t be…please…uncle…not…”

Uncle? Oh, crap.

Derek didn’t know Stiles had an uncle.

He brought the boy to the scene of his uncle’s murder.

When his legs finally started cooperating, Derek took a step towards Stiles only to be frozen on his feet yet again when the boys muttering changed.

“Dad? Dad…don’t die…don’t leave me…please dad, please…don’t leave me alone…”

It was evident that he was getting agitated as the identity of the cadaver distorted in his mind. The trembling increased, he hesitatingly reached out towards the body, pressing his fingers onto the blood soaked shirt and shaking the dead officer as tears filled his eyes.

“Please dad…wake up…you’re not dead, wake up…”

Tears fell down those pale cheeks as he shook harder and his voice gathered strength.

“Wake up…wake up, dammit…wake up…!”

At long last, Derek managed to force his legs to move, reaching the boy as he started going hysterical. “Stiles!” he yelled, grabbing him by the shoulders to both calm him down and pull him away from the body. The broken teenager in his arms heaved a gut-wrenching gasp as he came back to himself, looking around disoriented and trembling; Derek ignored his relief at finding his body still warm, though clammy from sweat.

“Stiles?”

“I have to go,” uttered the small voice as he stood up on shaky feet.

“What?”

“I forgot I have something to do at home, so I have to go…now.”

Derek was not going to let him go so easily, especially in his condition. The kid looked about ready to pass out from hyperventilation. He grabbed Stiles’s shoulders again as he edged towards the Camaro, the scent of his panic still permeating heavily in the air.

“Stiles, what’s wrong? Is that man your uncle? Tell me, what’s happening to you?”

“Nothing, just let me go. I need to get home I have things to do.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re lying, Stiles, I can hear your heartbeat. Now, look at me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Stop lying!”

“Let go-”

“Just tell me!”

“Derek-”

“TELL ME!!”

“LET GO OF ME!!!!”

With a surprising amount of strength, Stiles pushed Derek away, effectively freeing himself from his grasp, and ran towards the black car. Before anyone could fully realize what just happened, the engine roared as the Camaro disappeared, one very unstable teenager at its wheel.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

For a moment all was still and silent before Derek jumped into action. “You three! Call the police and make up a story for our presence here. I’m gonna go after Stiles. I have to make sure he’s alright.”

“There are some camping grounds near here; we could say we were going to make a campfire and hang out.” Boyd suggested.

“And we invited Stiles because we know Scott is out of town and we figured he might want some company.” Isaac added.

“Good. We’ll talk later,” Derek snapped before he shifted. Multiple thoughts ravaged Derek’s mind as he ran, screaming for his attention, but the one predominating over all others was, how?

How could this have happened? How could he let this happen? How could this night, this _one night_ , which had been going so well, end up like this? Just a few minutes ago, he was watching, and actually enjoying, a movie with Stiles; getting amused at his antics and quietly admiring those brown eyes that stared soulfully at him as Stiles, the boy that not too long ago hated and feared his guts and blamed him for everything that’s happened to him and Scott, called him a hero, something he never thought he was.

Stiles was wrong.

He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a protector. He couldn’t protect his family, couldn’t protect Laura, his pack, Scott.

Stiles.

He couldn’t protect anybody.

He sped through the forest, intent on not losing the boy’s scent yet somehow knowing where he was going.

The image of Stiles broken and silent, in vain trying to wake up a dead man, burned in his mind as if cauterized there; he had never seen him like that. He remembered all the encounters he’s met with Stiles, from the poisoned bullet to the hospital when they realized Peter was the Alpha to the pool with the kanima. In all those instances, which were worse than this, the kid was scared, yes, but he also managed to maintain his composure, keep a level head, and in many cases, save their asses with his crazy plans that for some reason almost always worked. Derek, Scott, Peter and his pack may all be big, bad werewolves, but Stiles is the real brain behind everything. So to see him in such a desperate state, so at a loss of what to do, it put the Alpha at a loss too.

Derek has dealt with hunters, rogue werewolves, his mad uncle and kanimas, and somehow miraculously came on top, no matter the consequences. But dealing with a teenage boy whom you…hold in high esteem who’s in the middle of a rampant panic attack? He was totally out of his league here. What should he do? How does he handle this? He had absolutely no idea. He could only hope that Stiles would be alright. He could only pray, something he hadn’t done in years.

His frantic thoughts led him all the way to Stiles’s house, where he could see his car badly parked out front. As he rushed through the door and up the stairs, the stench of panic and the dangerously rapid heartbeat overwhelmed him completely, crashing around him in thunderous waves.

Then he found Stiles in the bathroom.

The boy had collapsed in a total breakdown onto the floor, shower curtain draped over the tub; evidently he fell while trying to turn on the shower. He was shaking severely, tears streaming down his cheeks, gasping for breath as though his lungs might explode at any moment, wracking through his entire body. The gut wrenching sight scared Derek more than anything, fear twisting his stomach in a million knots.

Actually no, that’s a lie. He wasn’t scared.

He was freaking terrified.

This boy, this brave reckless boy, who faced against so many of Hell’s spawn in such a short time and survived, could actually die from the ghosts of his nightmares and fears right in front of him. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he came upon Laura’s torn body. But he had to try and help this broken child.

Not wanting to agitate Stiles more than he already was, Derek took deliberately loud steps forward to signal his approach, intent on helping the kid into the shower, as obvious he’d wanted to before collapsing. But it didn’t work as the Alpha had intended. His steps did in fact rouse the boy from his violent stupor, but not in the best sense. Derek doesn’t know what those glazed brown eyes saw when they landed on his figure, but it was enough to wrench a blood-curdling scream from his lungs as he curled in terror away from the werewolf in front of him.

Derek froze, nearly turned to actual ice by the sound. For a single moment, he feared he may have somehow unintentionally hurt the boy. But how could he if he hadn’t even touched him? Nevertheless, the boy continued screaming, despite the werewolves futile attempts to calm him, his words reverberating in his skull. “Get away!! Get away from me!!! I’m not useless!!! He’s not going to die!!!! NO! NO!!!”

“Ok,” Derek said whispered brokenly, edging backwards to press against the door away from the trembling boy without taking his eyes of him. “Ok, I’m not near you. I’m not touching you. I’m right here, ok?” The boy didn’t answer, but at least he stopped screaming. Derek himself was on the verge of panic; only the need to protect Stiles saved him from completely losing it. Finally, he made a decision and took out his phone. If you have a problem you can’t solve, get someone who can.

“With Sheriff Stilinski, please. It’s urgent. Sir, it’s Stiles.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Not even five minutes had passed before Derek distantly heard the front door slam shut, signaling the Sheriff’s arrival. He absently wondered if he had switched on the police siren to get there faster. Soon, thundering steps on the stairs were replaced by the figure of a father desperate to make sure his little boy was ok. Derek tried to ignore the pang that face caused in his heart. He wasn’t entirely successful.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff whispered, getting down on his knees and inching toward his broken son, “it’s me, bud. It’s dad. I’m right here, bud, it’s gonna be ok.” When he slowly pressed a warm hand on the bare shivering skin, Stiles flinched and whimpered, but somehow managed to recognize the familiar loving touch, then wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and held him close.

“Dad, you’re alive.”

“Of course, bud. I’m right here for you. Now breathe with me, come on.”

Derek left father and son to their moment and went to wait in the hall while Stiles calmed down. He found it hard to believe that all this happened inside an hour. An hour from the time Stiles teased him about his car to the Sheriff’s appearance. An hour from finally allowing himself to relax to nearly ripping his skin off in fear. An hour from bright brown eyes gazing at him in mischievous fondness to cringing from him in tear-stricken terror.

As hard as he tried, he could not erase the terrified look in Stiles’s face nor the piercing scream at the sight of him. Even now, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t ignore the sound of the boy’s sobs as his father tried to calm him down.

He lost track of time in his thoughts. Could’ve been minutes, or hours, or a lifetime for all he knew, but eventually he was roused by soft steps and no sobs. When he looked up, he saw the Sheriff staring at him while carrying Stiles like a little babe. They stayed like that for a while before the Sheriff nodded towards Stiles’’s bedroom and turned away.

Derek stood and flipped off the bathroom light then followed the police officer to the room where he saw him tucking his son into bed with a kiss on his forehead and a warm sadness in his eyes. Once he was done, he turned towards Derek and passed him at the door with a look that demanded answers. Once again, Derek followed the Sheriff, this time downstairs, and stopped in front of him when the officer took a stance that clearly said, “You’re not leaving this house until I know everything.”

So he gave him the watered down version of events. How he and Stiles had been hanging around the house when Isaac, Erica and Boyd called and invited them to a campfire in the woods. How they found the body on their way there. How Stiles had panicked when he saw who it was and ran off in Derek’s car. How he and Boyd went after in the beta’s car, Boyd dropping him off then going back to the other two, to the present. Derek didn’t know how much of that he believed or if he believed any of it at all, but that was his story and he was sticking to it.

They looked at each other for a long while before the Sheriff wondered suspiciously, “I didn’t know you were spending time with my son.”

“It started recently, when Scott went on vacation with his mom,” Derek retorted firmly.

The Sheriff narrowed his eyes at him, no doubt trying to intimidate him into confessing anything more lurid and Derek would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the least bit intimidated, but he held his ground and returned the gaze steadily. He was not going to cower when he did nothing wrong. The Sheriff stepped closer to Derek, and he tensed, ready for a challenge, when he felt a fatherly hand land on his shoulder.

“Thank you for taking care of my son.”

Startling silence.

“You can go.”

It took a couple of seconds for Derek to wake from his shocked stupor, but then he simply cleared his throat, nodded and made his way to the door. Then he just got into his Camaro, whose keys were luckily still in the ignition, and drove off, looking back at the Sheriff standing on his front porch through his rearview mirror.

On he drove, trying as hard as he could to drown all the thoughts and memories running rampant through his mind. But he had too much pent-up energy to properly concentrate on driving, so he pulled up on the side of the road and ran into the woods. As he sped through the trees, blood pumping in his veins, he let images of the night go wild through his mind: Stiles’s brown eyes as he waited for Derek’s acceptance to his offer to watch movies, Stiles’s proximity when he convinced Derek to tag along to the crime scene, Stiles frozen in terror at the sight of the body, Stiles screaming at him to get away on the bathroom floor, tears streaming down his face.

Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.

He couldn’t take any more of the memories of brown eyes swarming around his psyche.

When he reached a small clearing, sufficiently away from civilization that no one would come looking for him, the trees took the brunt of his anger and frustration. He slashed and punched and kicked his way through the memories and emotions warring in his mind before he released a shout from the innermost depths of his being, close to a roar; his betas knew better than to disturb him right now. Afterward, his body and mind exhausted, Derek plummeted to his knees, his bloody knuckles already mending.

Right there and then, he made himself a promise, among the trees, the rocks, and the night sky. He promised that never again would he feel so helpless. He would be prepared for the next time it happens-he wasn’t stupid enough to think it wouldn’t happen again, with their lives. He would gain Stiles’s trust so that he can be the familiar touch that pulls him away from the edge. He will protect the boy with bright brown eyes. The boy to whom he might…just might…have feelings for.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this story back when season 2 had ended and there where previews of season 3A. I'm always reading fanfics where Stiles suffers a panic attack and Derek immediately knows what to do. So I thought, "What if Derek DOESN'T know what to do?" And thus this little shrimp bubble was born. 
> 
> I started writing this around that time as well, but life, writer's block and my inherent laziness all conspired against me and thus, I didn't finish it until a few weeks ago, and finished typing it a few minutes ago.
> 
> I was thinking maybe adding a sequel from Stiles's POV staring with Morty's funeral, but that all depends on you beautiful people, so comment, favorite, whatever, to convince me that you are worthy of my words. XDXDXD
> 
> PEACE!!!!!!!!


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